“To Die Is Gain”

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.  – The Apostle Paul, 1st century A.D.

Who says this kind of thing?  I mean, what would possess a human being to write such an off-the-wall statement (and to write it honestly)?  And how in the world did it ever become normal, even cliche?  Sometimes I think that the whole concept of "key Bible verses" is an evidence of how calloused we are to mind-bending truth.

My Aunt Mitsu's homegoing is reminding me of all the things that homegoings remind you of.  All the things you forget when you don't remember eternity.  All the things you neglect when you get caught up in the here-and-now.  All the things you wallow in when, for a season, you don't actively remind yourself of the forever-and-ever-and-everness of the glorious kingdom of God of which you are a chosen and blessed citizen.

"To live is Christ."  Try applying that.  Just try.  I mean, what a personal revolution might take place if I took three weeks (twenty-one days) to meditate on what "to live is Christ" means and to apply it to every nook and cranny and corner of my life, from devotions to homework to sleeping patterns to conversations to commuting to finances to brushing my teeth and putting on pajama pants.  I say "pajama pants" not to be funny and not to be trite, but to try my best to communicate just how deep the dominion of Christ runs in the life of one who is truly His.  And blessed are all those who embrace this dominion, those for whom living is, in a word, Christ.

And then:

"To die is gain."  There are two words in this four-word sentence that do not go together without some serious explanation.  And tonight, I hope and pray with all my heart that, for as long as I have life, I will be a walking explanation of this upside-down reality.  "To die is gain."

I mean, who says this kind of thing?  Who believes this stuff?

“Dying Is So Hard…”

"Dying is so hard."  — Mitsu Nasuti, Friday, November 25, 2005

I talked to my mom on the phone today.  She said that her older sister, my Aunt Mitsu, is as close to home as you can get without actually being there.  Perhaps it's like that feeling you get when you return home after being gone for awhile.  As you turn into the driveway, you're almost home.  Anticipation is giving way to the dawn of reality.  But if someone locked the doors of the car from the inside and made you sit there waiting to really get home, you would be in turmoil.  How much more when "home" is heaven, the driveway is your deathbed, your car is cancer, and Jesus is standing on the front porch with open arms, smiling.

Today my precious Aunt Mitsu said to my mom, "Dying is so hard."  This is a shocking statement to those for whom death is a distant terrorist — always taking lives, but always someone else's.  I once heard that David Brainerd put it this way when he was on his own deathbed, speaking in that older English that is harder to understand but for some reason drives the point home: "It is another thing than men imagine, to die."  Say it slowly and it will pierce.

Over the last two weeks I have been reminded in deep and substantial ways not to forget the dying.  If dying is so hard, we should love them deeply, pray for them fervently, and serve them relentlessly.  That's what my mom is doing in New Jersey right now, and that's one of the reasons I love and respect her beyond words.  I have also been reminded, though, that dying is such a blessing for those who belong to the Father.

Mitsu is dying hard, yes, but Mitsu is dying well.  My mom said that they have had some of the sweetest times of fellowship over the last week, especially late at night when no more visitors are around and Mitsu is rested.  They have reminisced about the goodness and faithfulness of God throughout their lives.  They have blessed the Lord together for years of grace.  They have joined their hearts in thanksgiving to God for sustaining their families, providing in all seasons, and showing mercy to the third and fourth generation.  A few nights ago my mom said, "It is truly one of the most amazing things I have ever seen, to watch a saint go home."  For her to say this about a distant saint is one thing.  For her to say it about her beloved sister is another.  The joy that I felt in my heart when I heard her say this is indescribable.  A saint is going home.  Home.

Aunt Mitsu, welcome into the joy of your Master.  And brothers and sisters, all I can say is: What kind of people we would be if we lived each day with the thought that we will soon be going home!  What kind of people we would be…

True Repentance: Hard to Come By

True repentance is hard to come by.  At least it is in my life.  There are lots of "I'm-sorry's," plenty of good intentions, loads of transformational plans, and a good number of "I-should's" and "I-need-to's."  Short-lasting resolutions of all shapes and sizes are often the name of the game.  Overzealous, unripe decisions (with precious little follow-through) seem to outweigh real enduring change.  I've known this for a long time about myself, but that hasn't made the fight any easier.  There's no cease-fire in the war between flesh and Spirit.  The battle rages.

I am learning more and more that true repentance, while it is many things, is always at least one thing: specific.  Biblical repentance is pointed.  It is precise.  It is surgical.  When my heart is truly repentant, I don't toss spiritual grenades over my shoulder in the general direction of sin.  I choose a strategic position, slide my sniper rifle off my shoulder, hand-pick some hollow-point verses, lock the heart of sin in my sights, and systematically execute my iniquity in its tracks.  This is what I do when I'm serious about advancing in righteousness and killing sin.

But when I'm not sober-minded and watchful and battle-ready in the fight against sin, my "repentance" gets ambiguous.  I think and talk generally about my law-breaking.  My confession is vague, my resolutions are grey, and my goals are nebulous.  I try to drop unguided bombs on the enemy from twenty thousand feet in the air instead of parachuting into his territory, fixing bayonets, storming his long-held fortress, and doing hand-to-hand combat until the flag of holiness is raised unchallenged.

It's one thing to mumble to yourself, "I really should stop procrastinating."  It's quite another to humbly and thoughtfully admit, "Lord, when I look at myself in the mirror of Your Word, I see the sluggard of the Proverbs.  I am a lazy man who is dishonoring Christ by putting off hard work and pursuing whatever is right in my own eyes at any particular time.  I have rejected Your commands to redeem the time and to do my work heartily for You and not for men.  I am a lazy man; please forgive my sin because of Christ."

It's one thing to think, "I probably spend a little too much time in front of the mirror in the morning."  It's quite another to confess, "O God, I am full of myself.  My heart is overflowing with vanity and striving after the wind of self-glory.  I love myself, and in loving myself, I hate You.  I do not only gaze pridefully at myself in the glass mirror in the bathroom; I also stare vainly at myself in the mirror of my reputation with others, in the mirror of my grades, in the mirror of the athletic ability You gave me, and in the mirror of my own perceived spirituality which we both know amounts to sheer Pharisaism."

Likewise, it's one thing to pray dispassionately, "Lord, help me overcome my laziness," and then go forgetfully on your way.  It's quite another to decide to study the sluggard in Proverbs, to journal about what you're learning, to cut three specific distractions out of your life, to confess your sin to your three closest friends and ask them to pray faithfully for you, to make concrete and realistic resolutions regarding diligent work in your life, and to map your progress (or lack thereof) so that good intentions don't sprout wings and fly away, never to be seen again.

Again, it's one thing to toss up a prayer like, "God, help me not to be self-focused," and breathe a sigh of relief that that's taken care of.  It's quite another to make your pursuit of vainglory a matter of daily confession and prayer for the next thirty days; to dig into Proverbs 31, 1 Timothy 5:9-10, Titus 2:3-5, and 1 Peter 3:1-6 over each of the next four weeks; to decide to spend only fifteen seconds looking into your closet to decide what to wear in the morning; and to seek out an older godly woman to help you walk through heart-idols of appearance, attention-seeking, and envy.

I hear myself think so much about change, but I see so little of the real thing.  I listen to myself talk so much about repentance, but the real deal is rare.  And one of the main reasons why this is the case is that I attempt to deal with my sin in generalities and abstractions and ambiguities.  In this regard, I need to be less of a schemer who pores over maps and develops glossy battle plans and gives fancy-sounding orders, and more of an assassin who gets up close, sees the enemy, and pulls the trigger.  The planning is important, but it is meaningless without the killing.

True repentance is hard to come by.  It's "hard to come by" in that it's rare, and it's "hard to come by" in that it's difficult.  And no doubt its rarity is precisely because of its difficulty.  May God give us the violent grace of mortification so that we might repent early and often and with precision.  Then our repentance will be biblical, and our hearts will be like Jesus.

Aunt Mitsu: Not Much Time

I don't have much time, but my mom called tonight and told me that her older sister (the oldest of five), my Aunt Mitsu, is in the final stage of succumbing to cancer.  She doesn't want to eat or take her medication, which are sure signs that the battle is over.  Her battle has not been as long as some, but it has been long enough.  Hospice care will arrive soon and begin their painful and precious ministry.  My mom flies to New Jersey tomorrow to be with her.  Mitsu is a committed believer, praise be to God.  She is ending the years of her pilgrimage, and rounding that mysterious but sure corner that leads home.  Her husband Sam, though, is a devoted Catholic.  We used to be penpals when I was a boy, writing letters and sending each other baseball cards through the mail.  My prayer is that the Lord might use those years of hand-written letters, along with the devastation of Mitsu's death, to give me an opportunity to speak to him about the righteousness of Jesus and the glory of free grace.  Mitsu has lived in that grace, she is dying in it, and she will be saved by it.  "Oh, to grace how great a debtor, daily I'm constrained to be!"

A few years ago my mom lost her youngest brother, my Uncle Stevie, to cancer.  He made what seemed to be a genuine profession of faith in Christ in his final months on earth.  So now the youngest and the oldest will be gone.

I have three brothers — Ben, Mike, and Greg.  I can barely imagine any of them dying.  When I was a sophomore in college, Ben had a life-threatening, cancerous brain tumor the size of a tennis ball in the back of his head, but the grace of God was more than abundant, and He spared Ben's life.  He is now about to turn 27 years old.  Still, it is difficult to fathom my brothers dying.  I imagine my mom thought the same kinds of things when she was my age.  All of us naturally think this way, even if we've experienced the deaths of people very precious to us.  So Moses reminds us as he speaks to the Lord:

You turn man back into dust
And say, "Return, O children of men."
For a thousand years in Your sight
Are like yesterday when it passes by,
Or as a watch in the night.  — Psalm 90:3-4

From God's perspective, a thousand years are like "yesterday."  That's fast.  If the speed at which a thousand years passes by in God's sight can be illustrated by the concept of "yesterday," how frail and fragile must we be!  Mitsu's fifty-something years are nothing, and my twenty-four are less than nothing.

Tomorrow, this post will have been written yesterday.  And yesterday cannot be taken back.  What have you done with all your yesterdays?  What will do with your today?  For soon today will be yesterday and tomorrow will be today.  And tomorrow will not be today for long, because just as quickly as tomorrow became today, today will morph into yesterday.

Life is not a game.  It is deathly serious.  It is to be lived single-mindedly and robustly for the One who has filled all our todays with grace, all our yesterdays with forgiveness, and all our tomorrows with promises.  The time has come for Aunt Mitsu, and it will soon come for you.

Like I said:  I don't have much time.

So teach us to number our days,
That we may present to You a heart of wisdom.  — Psalm 90:12